


Just Gotta Get Right Outta Here

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7571779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is really excited Bellamy is almost done with grad school in Italy and coming back to do job interviews in DC. Until she remembers that she lives in a really sketchy neighborhood and he's definitely going to fret himself to death. That's a downside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Gotta Get Right Outta Here

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second fic based on my BFF's literal disaster life (the first being [Thunderbolts and Lightning](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5313698)). Basically everything Clarke says about her housing situation here is a true thing he has told me happened to him. I don't know how he is still alive.

Her first mistake is probably telling Bellamy that he can stay with her during his job interview.

Of course, it's not really a _mistake_ , because Bellamy has been in Italy for _three years_ , and if he's back in the states, Clarke wants to see him as much as possible, for as long as possible. So if he wants to stay with her, she's going to let him stay, and try to convince him that DC is the best place ever and he should move here, ideally somewhere close to her.

And as soon as she thinks that, she realizes the problem with the whole situation: Bellamy is going to see her place and freak the fuck out.

Clarke's sophomore year of college, she and Bellamy ended up on opposite ends of fortune. Clarke's dad died, her mom got arrested because of her involvement with his death, and Clarke was suddenly a lot richer than she had been, because of her dad's money, but also a lot poorer than she had been, because suddenly she didn't have a safety net. She was set for college, but after that, she was going to be on her own, and it was mind-boggling. Bellamy, meanwhile, had gotten into a great grad-school program, in fucking _Italy_ , with a full ride, and he was going to do great.

Which brings them to now: Bellamy, coming back for a job interview, and Clarke, a year out of college and living in the sketchiest house of all time.

Or, well, that's not fair. There's nothing wrong with the house itself. It's a perfectly nice house. A little creaky, but in a charming way. And her roommates are fine too. Honestly, it feels like they should be starring in a sitcom; they'd be ratings gold.

In the attic room, there's Miller, who definitely _has_ a first name. Clarke is confident he does. Everyone has a first name. But she has never heard it, and doubts she ever will. He also probably has a job too, because he leaves at regular times and pays rent. He's not silent, but he most grunts a lot, plays video games with Monty and Raven, and makes cutting sarcastic remarks with perfect comic timing about once a week. It's really impressive.

Clarke's room is on the second floor, as is Monty's, and Monty's best friend Jasper is on the first floor. Monty and Jasper are from Vermont, and are the kind of new-wave hippies who believe in marijuana, free love, and a sort of ill-defined and fairly passive hatred of the government. She really doesn't understand how they ended up in DC, but Monty does cool computer stuff and Jasper does online reviews of weird shit, and they both seem happy. They definitely sell pot on the side, and might _grow_ pot on the side, but if they do, she has no idea where, so if they get arrested, she probably can't get implicated. And they're _fun_ ; Clarke's life has always been kind of lacking in fun. She's not sure she's taking to it, but she's trying.

Raven lives in the basement, and may or may not be doing mad scientist shit down there. She does actual rocket science at work and the basement is always full of computers and wires and half-finished inventions. Plus, she has a cute girlfriend and makes a lot of her own sex toys, and if she makes a good one, she'll usually make one for Clarke too, and sometimes she and Gina will teach Clarke how to use it. Which is _awesome_.

So, yeah, as far as Clarke is concerned, her housing arrangements are perfect.

But Bellamy is going to hate them, because the actual location of the house is--not great.

Part of her understands; Bellamy grew up poor, and she knows he never felt safe in his own home. She knows how much he worried about his sister, how much he _still_ worries about her. So when he finds out Clarke is living in an awful neighborhood, he's going to be pissed.

The worst part is, she's still thrilled about it. He's going to be pissed, but he's going to be _here_. And then she can convince him that, really, she's _fine_.

Because she is. She's doing great. Really.

*

A week before Bellamy shows up, it goes wrong.

Maybe it's weird, that Clarke never really feels like she's in danger, even with her neighborhood's high crime rates and general awfulness. There are times when she gets in late and has her hand on her mace the whole walk home, but just out of habit. She's never even been afraid of a specific _thing_. It doesn't feel like paranoia, but it also doesn't feel needful. It feels like a lifetime of conditioning about how she should feel as a woman in this kind of area, and while she thinks she's safer doing that, she's also never had to use the mace, or even thought about using it. But she knows she'd be happy to have it, if she ever did need it.

The actual problem starts when she's at home, though, and has nothing to do with strangers in dark alleys. They're pretty familiar with most of their neighbors, whom she likes as long as she doesn't think about it too hard. To their left, there's Emori and her boyfriend Murphy, who are definitely sketchy and seem to live in a barter-based economy which bears no resemblance to her world. She's pretty sure whatever they do with their lives isn't strictly legal, but they don't seem to be hurting anyone, so she doesn't care. To their right, there's Roan and Indra, who they think are involved in the mafia in some way Clarke has no interest in learning about. She likes them, in a fairly uninvolved way. Roan has a thing for Raven, which Clarke can relate to, and Indra could kill her without even noticing, which Clarke can respect. Sometimes they run into each other at bars and bicker while rolling their eyes at C-SPAN, which means they're kind of like Bellamy, but not as good. No one is as good as Bellamy.

Given these are her immediate neighbors, it's probably weird that she thinks of the ones who live across the street as _the bad ones_. But they are. Maybe it's a sign of her own biases. She likes her other neighbors because they're friendly and fun, seem cool.

Cage Wallace is coolly polite, always smiles and nods to Clarke, but the feeling of his eyes on her is always like oil, something she wants to wash off but isn't sure how to. As far as she knows, everything he does is completely legal and on the level, but--honestly, she doesn't know what he's doing living here. Jasper thinks he _doesn't_ live here, that it's just Maya, the quiet girl who always looks a little haunted, and Clarke would believe it. But Cage is always around, oozing in and out like an animate slime, and she hates him.

And then, a week before Bellamy comes, she hears shouting, Maya crying, and then more shouting, and she calls the police.

"That was your first mistake," Monty tells her, once they're gone. "Never trust the cops."

"For real," Miller agrees. "My dad's a cop and I still don't trust cops."

"I don't trust them, but what else was I supposed to do? It sounded like he was hurting her."

"Call Roan," Monty offers. "Get a hit out on him."

"Roan knows Wallace is a dick. If he wanted to put a hit on him, he already would have. It's his fault for not being on this sooner."

It wouldn't have been a problem, if the cops just went to Cage's door and asked what was going on.

Instead, they came to _Clarke's_ door, and asked if she'd been the one to call about the domestic disturbance. She didn't know how to lie about it, and she was still worried about Maya, so she confirmed and told them what happened, but now the whole neighborhood knows: someone in their house had called the _police_ , instead of dealing with the problem themselves.

And that's when Clarke starts to feel unsafe in her own house. Or, not _in_ her house, but around her house. She jumps at shadows, sure that every one is Cage Wallace, coming to murder her.

Like he'd do it himself.

The day before Bellamy is supposed to come, Clarke gives up and texts Octavia.

**Me** : I think your brother is going to freak out about my shitty neighborhood  
Any tips?

**Octavia** : what kind of shitty?

**Me** : I called the cops on a domestic disturbance and I'm worried I'm going to get murdered

**Octavia** : yeah that's tough  
how much do you normally think you're going to get murdered?  
scale of 1-10

**Me** : I guess 3?  
It's kind of like  
The place my mom warned me about when I was a kid  
I feel like I SHOULD be worried, you know?  
But mostly I'm not

**Octavia** : i'd go for casual   
like oh yeah bad neighborhood nbd  
minor threats to my life  
but my rent is super cheap!  
it is right?

**Me** : Super cheap.  
Is that what you do?

**Octavia** : i'm v selective with info about my life  
he's got his job interview right?  
give him a hug for me

**Me** : Will do  
Thanks for the advice

It still doesn't seem like the best idea, but it's been a week, and Clarke is starting to calm down about the whole thing. Maya moved out this morning, but she'd thanked Clarke with apparently genuine feeling. It makes her feel better, even though it's probably a bad sign, globally. Maya is going to live with her girlfriend, and Cage is losing whatever she did for him. If he's blaming anyone for that, it's going to be Clarke.

But Maya is safe, which was what she wanted from the phone call. 

And _Bellamy is coming_.

She never would expected to miss him so much, when they first met. It was her freshman year and they were in a history seminar together. She'd been green and kind of overconfident, he'd been a cynical junior, bitter that he couldn't afford to study abroad like most of his friends. When they ran into each other at the library, they started sitting near each other to bicker, and then to talk.

By the time he graduated, he was her best friend, and she didn't even realize it until he left the country, and she was emailing him every stupid thing that happened, getting responses on a six-hour time lag.

She's nearly bouncing on the train to the airport. Three years, and he's still her best friend. And he's coming home.

If she's lucky, he's coming _here_.

He texts to say he's at the baggage claim a few minutes before she arrives, and that's when the nerves kick in. Because--what if it's _not_ Bellamy? What if three years and an ocean is enough for them to have grown into the kind of people who can't just sit together in the library and be happy?

And then she sees him.

She's always known Bellamy is an attractive guy, but she's never really thought about it that much. At first, it was because she disliked him, and she never likes to admit that people she dislikes are attractive. It feels like a form of surrender. And then it just became a habit, not being attracted to Bellamy. She was used to him. He was just-- _Bellamy_.

He never takes pictures, so it's been a while since she saw him even digitally; the last time, she thinks, was last Christmas, when he went home to see his sister and got tagged in a group photo at a bar. He was blurry and not looking at the camera, and it made her feel fond, but not--

Fuck, he's _so_ hot.

His hair is longer than in her mental image of him, a little shaggy around his ears, and he's wearing his glasses, which he never used to except late at night. He's looking down at his phone, so Clarke can take a minute to take him in, the breadth of his shoulders, the splay of his freckles, the tug of his mouth into a smile.

Bellamy, in the flesh. Her favorite person, right here.

"Hey," she says, and it feels inadequate, but he looks up, face breaking into a bright grin, and all the breath punches out of her.

"Hey," he says, shoving his phone into his pocket. She can see him twitch, a second of uncertainty, and it's enough to get her moving, throwing herself in his arms. He still smells familiar, the same as he always did, and he's so warm and solid she actually tears up, burying her face against his neck and not letting go.

At least he doesn't seem any more inclined to release her.

"How long are you staying again?" she asks.

"Four days."

"That sucks."

He laughs and squeezes her. "Italy's okay."

"Fine, it just sucks for me."

At last, he lets her go, but he's still looking at her, eyes roving over her like he's greedy for the sight of her. It should be embarrassing, but mostly she's just happy. She can't get enough of him either.

"Just okay," he says, and she bites her lip on her grin.

"Did you check a bag?"

"For four days? No way."

"Did you bring me cool stuff?"

"Not much." He actually flushes a little. "I, uh--I figured I'd bring it when I actually got back. More room in my luggage."

"Exactly how much stuff did you buy me?"

"There's a lot of stuff you'd like in Italy," he says, gruff, and she nearly hugs him again. But he plows past it without giving her the chance to respond. "So, where are we going?"

"Train back to my place."

"Thanks again for letting me stay."

"Anything I can do to help. I really want you to get this job."

"Me too," he says.

She leads him toward the train, but she can't stop glancing back, every few minutes, feeling like--Orpheus, she's pretty sure. If she was supposed to walk out of the underworld without looking at him, she'd be sunk. 

"Have I mentioned I missed you?" she asks. 

"Nope." He grins. "I figured you were happy to have me out of your hair."

"Just for the first week."

He examines the train map while they wait, and she examines him. He's wearing a plain black t-shirt and jeans, and everything about him looks soft and warm. She wants to tuck herself against him and never let go.

She expected to be happy to see him. She knew she missed him. But she hadn't known how much.

"So, where are we going?" he asks.

She stands closer than she needs to when she comes to the map, pointing out the rough location of her house. "You're not going to like it," she tells him.

"I'm not, huh?"

"Not even a little."

"Why not?"

"Basically everything. Terrible neighborhood, sketchy roommates, possibly homicidal neighbors."

His expression darkens, and it makes her weirdly happy. Not that she enjoys stressing him out, but she's missed everything about him, up to and including the face he makes when he thinks she's making bad choices.

"Possibly homicidal?"

"I think just vengeful."

"Clarke--"

"It's been a week, so I'm not really worried."

"Reassuring." His jaw works. "I can't tell if you're being serious or not," he finally admits, like it's a personal failing. She gets it, honestly; he used to be able to read her, and if he can't, it must sting.

Three years.

"I can't tell either. I texted your sister to find out what I should say about it." She bites her lip, but lets herself wrap her arms around him again. He startles, but just barely. "That's from her," she says, and he wraps his arm around her and tugs her closer.

"What did she tell you?" he asks. He's making no move to let go of her, so she makes no move to leave. 

"Be casual."

"She's better at casual than you are." He squeezes her shoulder. "Just tell me."

"It's cheap," she says.

"Good start."

"I like it," she says, a touch defensive, and he squeezes her again. "My housemates are great. You'll like them once you get over yourself."

"That's the only way I ever like anybody."

"It's a bad neighborhood and there are a bunch of gangs and I think my neighbors are in the mob."

"I thought mafia lived in nice neighborhoods," he observes.

"Maybe they're gangs and we're just assuming he's mafia because he's white and seems rich," she muses. "But he really does feel more like a mafia guy than a gang member."

"How many mafia guys or gang members have you met?" he asks, but he sounds more amused than distressed. That's probably a good sign.

"Way more since I moved here."

"I'm really worried about the homicidal vengeance. Tell me about that."

The train comes, and to her surprise he still doesn't really let go of her, just juggles his bags so he can tug her with him. Maybe he wants to make up for lost time too.

"There was a domestic disturbance across the street. I called the cops and instead of going right over they came to ask me about it, so the guy knows I made the call. The girl moved out today, so I'm hoping it's just--resolved."

"Jesus," he says, rubbing his face. "Clarke--"

"You think I should have ignored it?"

"Fuck, no. I'm not saying that. Just--what are you doing? We could get a hotel. I could afford one."

"We?" she asks.

"What, you want me to get you a hotel and I stay in your death-trap house? You think they'll kill me thinking I'm you?"

"No one's going to kill us." She pauses, but she figures it's best to get it out now. "So, there are two stops near my house. You want the one where you're more likely to get stabbed or more likely to get stabbed fatally?"

There's a long pause, and finally he just says, "What," in a tone of flat defeat.

"The chances of getting stabbed are lower overall at the second one," she says. "But if you do get stabbed, you're probably going to die."

"I could get a hotel, seriously."

"But my housemates want to meet you," she says. She leans her head on his shoulder. "It's really fine, Bellamy. You're just gonna worry."

"Yeah, this is _my_ issue," he says. She can hear him rolling his eyes. "I'm the one who's acting weird here."

"I've been living here for a year. It's safe."

"Really? Just because it hasn't gone wrong yet doesn't mean it never will. And you're apparently worried about retaliation for calling the police, so--"

"Not anymore. It's been a week. And they moved out. I assume he bribed the cops or whatever. It turned out fine. And don't tell me it just hasn't gone wrong yet."

"You're thinking it still could," he says, which is true.

"I did the right thing, and my other scary neighbors like me. So I assume they'll protect me from the ones who don't like me."

"Yeah, that seems foolproof," he says. "I really need to move here, huh?"

She has to smile. "Well, I wouldn't mind."

*

Bellamy tells her to surprise him on the train station, so they go to the first one they get to, which is the fatal stabbing one. He stays close to her, even if his arm isn't around her any more, and she does feel a little better, with him at her back. If Cage tried anything, he'd have a fight on his hands.

They pass Murphy and his friend Mbege coming out of the convenience store and Clarke waves to them, and that makes her feel better too. She's never had as much interaction with her neighbors as she has here, and most of it is positive.

Bellamy is glaring, and she elbows him.

"This is my best friend," she tells them. "He's jetlagged. And he made that face too much when he was a kid, so it froze like that."

Murphy and Mbege make vague noises of recognition, but Bellamy is quiet, and it's not until they're away from the small commercial area and walking toward the house that he says, "I'm your best friend?"

She hadn't even realized that she'd never said it directly to him before; it's how she always talks about him to people. _My best friend, Bellamy_.

"Did you not want to be?" she asks, careful.

"No, no," he says, and then laughs, sheepish. "Not--yeah, I don't mind, just--" When she glances at him, he's rubbing the back of his neck. "I was kind of worried I'd come back and it would be--different."

"But you're judging my life choices and I'm not caring," she says. "Same as before."

"Who were the guys?"

"My sketchy neighbor and his sketchy friend."

"He didn't look like a mafia guy."

"No, that's the other one. Murphy's just--I don't know, a dick? He probably has some way of making money too, but I don't know. I think he might just be immortal."

"Based on what?"

"He's not dead yet."

Bellamy snorts. "So, is this some massive conspiracy, right? You want to convince me to move to DC, so you're making it look like your life is fucking terrifying."

"It's not, though," says Clarke. "I wouldn't live here if I was terrified. It's--" She tries to figure it out. "I was a little worried after the cops thing. But mostly it's more--it feels like the kind of place my mom would have told me to be afraid of. But nothing bad has happened to me. And don't say yet. I know it still could."

"I'm just saying, I grew up in bad neighborhoods. I know bad neighborhoods. It's cool you're not afraid, but--"

"But if I was, I'd want to pay more to not to be." She bumps her shoulder against his. "I'm not saying you should move in with me or anything."

"I probably should. You need backup."

"I have backup. You haven't even met my roommates yet."

"Can't wait," he says, dry as sand. He moves a little closer. "This isn't--I've lived in worse places."

"That doesn't make me feel better."

"No," he grants. "But it makes me feel better."

Inside, her housemates are playing video games, which means they don't look up when Clarke and Bellamy arrive. Video games are cut-throat in this house; Monty and Raven usually dominate, but Miller is surprisingly good and Jasper has his moments, and everyone is always trying to get _better_. Clarke doesn't even try; she's bad at video games _and_ way too competitive, so it's a recipe for disaster. She nearly broke a Wiimote last time.

"They're not gonna come up for air until the round ends," she tells Bellamy. "The white one is Jasper, the Asian one is Monty, the black one is Miller, and the Latina is Raven."

"Do you always define us by our ethnicties?" Monty asks, absent. "Racist."

"Just when I'm trying to introduce you. Bellamy's Filipino, just so I'm defining everyone by their ethnicity."

"Also incredibly jetlagged," he says. "Sorry, guys. I don't think any of you guys are going to shiv me in the night. Does Clarke's door lock? Unrelated question."

"Yeah, fuck you, Miller!" Raven crows, and the round ends. She glances at Bellamy. "Oh, yeah, I was totally right, Monty, he is hot."

"Thanks?" Bellamy glances at Clarke. "You were right, they seem really normal."

"I never said they were normal, just that they aren't dangerous." She frowns at Raven. "Why were you talking about how hot he was?"

"Speculating. Wondering why you were so excited about seeing him. I figured he was hot."

Bellamy's grinning, and Clarke wishes she hadn't asked. "Great, so--he's gonna go pass out on my floor."

"Your bed's a lot nicer!" Raven calls after them, and Bellamy is _still_ grinning.

"I've got an air mattress," she says. "I inflated it and made it and everything. But I guess you should maybe take the bed. You've got your interview, you need sleep."

"My interview isn't even until Tuesday. And I don't think that's what Raven was thinking," he says, and pauses. "It was Raven, right?"

"Yeah." She pushes the door open, and it does feel a little weird. It was easy to set the air mattress up, to put down the sheets and think about the abstract idea of Bellamy sleeping on her floor. But he feels too big now that he's in her room, like there won't be enough space for the two of them. "How tired are you?"

"Mostly just confused," he says. He's looking around the room with curious interest, and Clarke flushes when he finds a picture of the two of them on the desk, with a few of their college friends. But he just smiles. "I have no idea what time it is or where I am."

"Nine, and in my room."

"Yeah," he says. "Still working on that." He clears his throat. "I should try to stay up a while longer, right? So I can sleep in."

"We could watch a movie or something."

They end up stretched out next to each other on her bed, watching Netflix on her laptop, and that's not new either. They did it all the time in college, on a much smaller bed, but it felt normal in college. Everyone did that.

He falls asleep an hour in, slumped on her shoulder, and Clarke has to force herself to wake him up and send him to the air mattress. 

When he opens his eyes, he grins at her, and it's even harder.

"Hey," he says. "You're still here."

She smiles back, helpless. "Yeah. I'm still here."

*

In the morning, Jasper greets them with, "Someone stole our TV."

"When?" asks Clarke. "How?"

"This morning." He pauses. "So I think it was my fault."

"You're not sure?" Bellamy practically growls, and Jasper blinks at him rapidly.

"Wow, you are more intimidating than I thought. Like--for someone who's not actually tall, you're scary."

"Which one is this?" Bellamy asks her.

"Jasper," he supplies. "The white one. Anyway, I was talking to Murphy outside, but I guess I left the door open, and when I came back a lot of our stuff was gone."

"Not just the TV?" asks Clarke. "What else?"

"Game systems. That ugly lamp Gina bought at Goodwill that we all hate. So maybe it's a net good."

"So someone just wandered into your house, stole multiple things, and you didn't _notice_?" Bellamy asks.

"What do you care?" asks Jasper. "It's not even your house."

"If you murder him I have to pay more rent," Clarke adds, to Bellamy. "Have you done anything about it?"

Jasper rubs the back of his neck. Clarke is never really into marijuana, but she's especially not into it at nine a.m. on a Sunday morning. But Jasper seems to feel that getting high is always an option. "I was gonna make lost signs. Like, to put up around the neighborhood."

"Or we could talk to Murphy."

"You really think he's going to help if he's the one who helped steal it in the first place?" Bellamy asks.

It's a valid point, and she sighs.

"Fine. We'll get Raven to ask Roan."

Their attempts to figure out what happened to the TV eat most of the day, and Clarke avoids meeting Bellamy's eye and much as possible because she knows what he's thinking. It's a completely ludicrous situation. He's right to be judging her a little, but it doesn't seem like the kind of thing where he needs to be _worried_. Their TV got stolen; by the end of the day, Roan's gotten it back, along with the rest of their stuff. It's just kind of a wacky comic misadventure, a good episode of the TV show that is their lives.

"What if I got a place and you moved in with me?" Bellamy asks that night. "That would work, right? Somewhere cheap, but not this cheap. If my job is good, I can pay more of the rent."

"It's not bad here."

"No. But I'm going to lose sleep knowing this is where you live."

"So do you just not ask your sister about her life?"

He stiffens. "What did she say about her life? Is her apartment this bad?"

Clarke has to smile. "I have no idea. But you're going to give yourself gray hairs if you worry this much."

"It'll look dignified." He glances at her. "Seriously, I don't like you living here."

"I know. But--seriously, it's fine." She pauses. "But if you found a good place, maybe."

"Yeah?"

They're lying in bed with the lights out; he can't see her face. It's the best time she's going to have to say, "I like it here. But--I miss you. I wouldn't mind getting to see you again."

He's quiet for a while, but then he says, "You're going to see me no matter what."

"Yeah," she agrees. "I know. But you'd never visit me if I lived here--"

He snorts. "Are you kidding? I'd move into the hallway with a shotgun."

"We could find a bed for you," she says, and there's a quality to the silence that makes her wonder if he's remembering Raven saying Clarke's bed was nicer than the air mattress.

Probably not. Probably he's not thinking about climbing in next to her, like she's thinking. 

"Easier if I get my own place and you stop living here," he says.

"If you get the job."

There's another pregnant pause. "There'll be other jobs, Clarke. There are a ton of museums here. I'll probably decide this is where I want to live even if--"

"DC's a pretty cool place."

"When you're not getting _murdered_ ," he mutters, and she grins.

"Like right now. Go to sleep, Bellamy."

"Yeah, yeah. Goodnight, Clarke."

*

Bellamy's interview is on Tuesday, so Clarke got Monday off work. Since the robbery was sorted out quickly and efficiently, they take the day to do tourist things. Bellamy is interviewing at the National Building Museum, so they go there first, so he can get familiar with it. Clarke hasn't been before, but she can imagine him here, getting a bunch of kids into architecture with his dorky enthusiasm.

She wants him to move here so much she aches with it. A part of her had been sure he'd go to California, where Octavia is, but--maybe being away from her three years convinced him they could survive separately.

Maybe he's picking her.

The Air and Space Museum is crowded, and she slips her hand into his so they don't get separated in the crowd. She can feel his hesitation, just for a second, and then his grip, firm and warm, his palm rough against hers. He's always had such nice hands, Clarke thinks. She used to draw them for practice, which he claimed was weird, but he still let her do it.

"What?" he asks, squeezing her fingers.

"I don't want to lose you," she tells him, and he smiles.

They stop by the American Indian Museum too, and then grab dinner, and it doesn't feel exactly like the kind of thing she could get used to, because it's so touristy. But Tuesday, she goes back to work and Bellamy does his own thing, and that feels like--her life. Just improved, because he's around, sending her occasional texts, and she knows she'll see him after work, get to hear about his day.

And tomorrow night, he'll be gone again. This is all she gets.

**Me** : I think I'm in love with Bellamy

**Wells** : Yeah  
Wait  
Did you not know?  
Is this news?

**Me** : It's news, yeah  
I just thought he was Bellamy

**Wells** : Wow  
Yeah, no  
You're in love with him  
I would have told you  
But I thought you were just being stubborn about it

**Me** : He's going back to Italy tomorrow

**Wells** : Sorry  
Does he know?

**Me** : No

**Wells** : Good luck with that  
If it helps, I figured he was in love with you too

She thinks about texting Octavia, but she doesn't know what she'd say. She doesn't want to tell Octavia she's in love with her brother, because that would be beyond awkward. She sort of wants to ask if Bellamy's really planning to move to DC regardless of anything else, but that's a Bellamy question.

He's done in two months, no matter what. He'll be closer than he was, wherever he is.

He texts at four, after the interview. _I think it went well. What do you want to do for dinner?_

It feels so stupidly domestic she almost wants to cry.

Instead, they figure out a place to meet, and he insists on paying for her meal, to thank her for letting him stay in her death-trap house.

"The house is fine!" she protests. "It's the neighborhood."

"I think your shower tried to kill me."

"How?"

"It was hissing at me."

"That just means it's low on hot water." There's a pause, and when she looks up, she's surprised to find he's looking at her with a serious, concerned expression, all amusement gone. "What?" she asks.

"How bad is the money situation? Really."

"It's fine. I could afford a nicer place, but this way I'm getting more in savings. I figure I'll want a nicer place later."

"Like when I move here," he says.

"That's you wanting a nicer place. I'd be fine if you just moved into my death-trap house."

The conversation moves on to other things from there, but Bellamy apparently doesn't forget it, and when they're on their way home, he takes her hand again, cautious but deliberate.

"So, we're on the same page, right?" he asks.

The question is too ambiguous for her to answer without more information, but it still makes her throat close and her heart skip.

"Which page?" she asks.

"I need a roommate when I get back," he says. Then he pauses, squeezes her hand again. "No, uh, that's not really--I want to live with you. Fuck, I missed you. I don't want to come home and not--"

"Yeah," Clarke says, because it's just a little too much. "Same page."

But it nags at her the rest of the way home, the heavy feeling of Bellamy's hand in hers, the way he was trying to be honest and she wasn't. Or--she was, but _I'm definitely in love with you_ feels like the kind of thing they should also be on the same page about. She can't imagine the next two months with only herself knowing. With him in Italy, planning to come back to her, but not knowing she'd be interested in a one-bedroom apartment, not a two.

He keeps hold of her hand and tightens his grip as they get closer and closer to her house. She does feel guilty again, because--there's a part of her that's _sure_. That believes, down to her core, that nothing bad will ever happen to her here.

And the bad things that have happened to Clarke, all the shit with her parents, that didn't feel like bad men in the dark. It wasn't a bad neighborhood and the kind of boogeymen that are abstract, to rich kids like her. 

She is still a rich kid, after all.

Bellamy grew up in places like this. The fear is real for him.

"You know why Roan told Raven we were safe?" she asks him.

"Roan's the guy who looks like he's in the mob?"

"The one who got our TV and stuff back, yeah."

"Is it because he wants to fuck her?"

"It's because we make them look more respectable. We're their token law-abiding citizens."

He snorts. "Monty and Jasper have been high every time I've seen them," he points out.

"Okay," she grants. "But pot's the respectable drug if you're white. Or Asian. I think they might be dealing, so that's not great, but still. On paper, we're great for the neighborhood."

"That only helps a little," he says. "It just takes one person, Clarke. Someone who doesn't live here. Someone who thinks you saw something you shouldn't have. I don't know how you sleep."

"Have you been sleeping?" she asks, worried, as she unlocks the door.

"Not that well."

"Fuck, you should have told me. We really could have gotten a hotel. I didn't--"

"I'm on an air mattress, Clarke," he says, and the teasing note in his voice sounds genuine. "I'm never going to sleep that well." They wave to Raven, Gina, and Miller on the couch; Clarke does her best to ignore Raven's raised eyebrows at the sight of her hand still in Bellamy's. "I don't think someone's going to break in and murder us in the night. That's not what I--"

"You should sleep in the bed," she says, all in a rush, once the door is closed.

"I was joking, the air mattress is fine."

She lets out a breath, makes herself meet his eyes. "That's not why I think you should be in the bed. I'm checking if we're on the same page. I'm in the bed too, in this scenario."

He blinks for a second, traces his thumb over the skin of her wrist, and then smiles. "Yeah," he says. "Same page."

And then he kisses her.

She would have said she'd never thought about kissing him until this visit, but the relief feels older than that. And she has had dreams about kissing him, now that she thinks about it, but she didn't pay them much mind. She has dreams about kissing plenty of people.

His hand is still warm and rough in hers, and there's the scrape of stubble on his cheeks, just a bit. His mouth is firm without being too demanding, and the kiss is sweet. It feels romantic in a way that makes her heart leap, but she still can't help pushing him onto the bed and straddling his hips.

Romance is great, but this is their last night for two months. She wants to make it count.

He laughs against her mouth, tugs her more firmly into his lap. "Okay, so--good," he says, and tugs her shirt off.

Clarke hasn't gotten laid for a few months, not since the last time she and Gina and Raven decided to fool around. She hasn't been with a guy for almost a year, and she feels silly about it now, because--guys weren't doing it for her. That's what she thought. She'd thought maybe she was sliding higher on the Kinsey scale as she got older or something.

Guys weren't Bellamy. That was the issue. He's hard to live up to, even remotely.

"Wells thought I knew I was in love with you," she says, conversational, as she gets his shirt off too. He's all lean, tan muscle, and her hands trace over the ridges of his abdomen without much input from her brain.

"You didn't?"

"Not until you got back." She kisses him again before he can respond. "I was. I just didn't notice."

His hands fumble a bit with her bra, but get it off, and then he stares for a minute. His grin, once he recovers, is huge, and she pushes him onto his back while he's distracted, pressing down against him for a longer kiss.

"You went on a date with some intern named Chet," he says. "Two years ago. I got drunk with this guy from my program and spent an hour ranting about how Chet wasn't even a real name." He pauses. "He had a thing for me, so he just said, I guess this isn't going to happen after all. The only reason he even knew I was into guys was that he thought Clarke was a guy's name."

She laughs against his neck, giddy with happiness. "Sorry you didn't have a more active sex life for me to get jealous of."

"I'm not," he says. He turns them over, slow, like he's giving her a chance to object, but she can't stop smiling. Bellamy Blake is on top of her, hair a mess, his own smile huge and bright.

She reaches up to take off his glasses. "When are you moving back again?"

He moves his head down to nuzzle between her breasts. "Graduation is June twentieth."

She anchors her hand in his hair and smiles. "I'll see if I can find us an apartment."

*

The new apartment is in Virginia, which Raven says is "quitting," but Clarke likes it. They don't move in until the first of July, but Bellamy comes back immediately after graduation and moves into her bed in the meantime, which is still a huge improvement.

"It's got a grocery store we can walk to," she says. "Like--a nice one."

"This is what happens when you don't live in a shitty neighborhood. You get nice things."

"The food is more expensive."

"Luckily your boyfriend has a swanky job at the Building Museum," he says. "And we can afford nice groceries."

"There are restaurants too. Businesses that don't sell lottery tickets."

He laughs and kisses her hair. "Yeah, it's a brave new world."

Bellamy is home, and her boyfriend, and they're going to be living together in just over a week. 

Well, living together in their own apartment, just the two of them. 

"Brave new world," she agrees, and settles in against him, content.


End file.
